The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

AGAIN
by Naching T. Kassa 

Again? I’ve died again?

This face in the mirror, the body I’ve entered, it isn’t my own. Yes, I am Japanese. Yes, I am a woman. The similarity ends there.

That bastard. He killed me again. It’s the only explanation. I’ve lived a hundred lives and he’s ended them all.

It’s time to end this cycle. This time, I’ll kill him first.

I stare at the woman in the mirror and the strange room I’m sitting in. It doesn’t look like there’s been a jump in time. I recognize all the tech in the room so it’s still the Reiwa period. Must be in a theater. The mirror looks like one stage actors use. There’s writing on it. Looks like English. Good thing I learned.

The words are harsh. “Die, Pig!”

It’s then I realize the truth. A sword lies on the dressing table before me. This isn’t my mirror. It’s his.

He’s here somewhere. Whenever I respawn, he’s never far away. That’s the trouble with soulmates. We can never escape each other.

I pick up the sword and walk out of the dressing room. Immediately, there’s a tug on my heartstring. It grows stronger when I walk toward the stage, leading me toward my tormentor. I recognize him immediately. He’s the guy with the easy smile, two-tone blue hair and green eyes. My heart betrays me the instant I set eyes on him.

He’s signing autographs, as usual. The girls never leave him alone. It’s been this way since the Edo period.

He looks up when I enter the room, smiles at the girls and abandons them.

“Miwa,” he says, taking my hand.

His skin feels so good. Warm. Smooth. I love—

I refocus. This has to stop. I can’t keep dying like this. He has to die.

I jerk my hand from his grasp. “Tajiri.”

“What’s wrong?”

Another rotten thing about having a soulmate. You can’t lie to them.

“I died—AGAIN! You killed me!”

He glances toward the girls. Luckily, they’re not paying attention. “I didn’t kill you.” He whispers. “I’d never kill you.”

“Then how did I wind up here? A few hours ago, I was an artist in Kyoto and you were an aspiring writer. Now, I’m a…who am I now?”

“Your name is Mai Kobayashi. You’re my sword instructor. You don’t remember?”

“I never remember! You know that. Unlike you, it takes me days to recover. And by the time I do, I usually die.”

“You know…I could just tell you what happened.”

I sigh. “Not the monster again.”

He shakes his head. “You never believe me. You believe we’re repeating our lives as different people, but you can’t believe in the monster? You usually see it just before—”

“You throw me in its path? You leave me in the dust? Come on, Tajiri. How come I always die and you don’t?”

His expression is melancholic. “Maybe, it’s because I can handle what comes after.”

“And I can’t?”

“You tried it once. You said once was enough.”

“Maybe, this would all end with your death.”

“You’ve said that before too.”

He takes hold of my empty hand, smooth skin against mine. Suddenly, his death is the last thing I want. In fact, it’s the thing I fear most.

All the girls have gone, save one. The theater falls quiet. She watches us, her eyes bright.

“Tajiri?” I ask. I can’t take my eyes off her.

A memory tickles the back of my mind. I never remember until it’s too late. “Tajiri, are we alone?”

With his left hand, he reaches across his body and pulls a dagger from the sheath hidden beneath his coat. “No,” he whispers.

The girl morphs before my eyes. Her flesh melts away, forming the pink, hairless monster with only a mouth. Hate radiates from the thing and agony fills me when it invades my mind.

“He is mine!” the thing screeches. “Die, pig!”

The worm, once disguised as a girl, slithers toward me.

Tajiri stares into my eyes. “You’ve sacrificed enough,” he says. “I can’t watch you die again. Run, Miwa. Run and live.”

I turn and the memories come rushing in. Déjà vu borne in every moment. My death always begins this way.

I glance over my shoulder.

“Mine!” the voice echoes in my mind. A mouth, full of teeth, materializes among the folds of pink flesh. Tajiri slashes at it with his dagger.

In that moment, I remember the first time it killed him, severing my heartstring. Never has there been such pain. Tajiri was right. I can’t live fifty more years with a broken soul, let alone a broken heart.

The cycle means little to me now. I would rather die a thousand deaths than lose Tajiri.

“No,” I say raising the sword. “This time…we die together.”

There are no memories, no points of reference for what comes next.

I join Tajiri and my blade bites into the worm over and over. Black blood pools and stains. The creature screams beneath our onslaught.

Soon the thread which holds it to this world is cut. It slides to the floor a soulless void.

Tajiri and I stare at one another, panting, covered in blood.

“I don’t remember this,” he says.

The sword falls from my hand, and I slip into his arms. “Neither do I. I wonder why we never thought of it before.”

.

Fiction © Copyright Naching T. Kassa
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

More from Naching T. Kassa:

Sherlock Holmes and The Arcana of Madness: A Horror Mystery

Discover the untold mysteries of Sherlock Holmes and Dr. John Watson in Sherlock Holmes and the Arcana of Madness, a trilogy that unveils three captivating cases intertwined with the mystical allure of tarot cards, designed by the renowned, yet infamous artist, Richard Dadd.

A collection of manuscripts, meticulously penned by John H. Watson M.D., is unearthed in 2019 amidst the restoration of Broadmoor Hospital, found inexplicably in the grave of Richard Dadd. The manuscripts’ concealed journey and their remaining unpublished raise a myriad of questions, enveloping them in a veil of mystery.

Available on Amazon!